Lorna Seilstad Page 10

  Anger surged through Lincoln. He yanked the man’s arm, forcing him to turn in his direction. “You threw the bricks through those windows? Hannah was in that restaurant!”

  Walt’s fists clenched at his sides, the veins in his neck bulging. “I told her to stay off that street. Besides, you took her to that restaurant, not me.”

  “Enough!” Hannah stepped between the two of them. “I’m mad as a cat dunked in water right now, Walt Calloway, so if you know what’s good for you, you’ll back off and sit down.” She whirled toward Lincoln and jabbed her finger at his chest. “And you’re here to help. Remember?”

  “Hannah, he could have killed you!”

  Her chest heaved beneath the frills of her shirtwaist. She glared at Walt. “It really was you? You threw the bricks?”

  Walt’s gaze dropped to the floor. “I didn’t know you were there.”

  “But you still could have murdered someone.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “Up till this moment, I never thought you’d be capable of hurting anyone.”

  “I wouldn’t, Hannah.” He stood and tried to take her in his arms.

  She jerked away.

  “You have to believe me. I got carried away—wrapped up in wanting to get those men their jobs back. Please tell me you believe me.”

  Lincoln waited several seconds before speaking. “Hannah, I don’t blame you for being mad at him. Personally, I’d still like to deck him, but we don’t have much time left before the jailer returns.”

  “I know.” She blinked and took a deep breath. “I’ve known you nearly all my life, Walt. I’m furious with you, but I do believe you.”

  “You’re a lucky man, Calloway.” Lincoln forced his own anger to subside. If Hannah could forgive Walt, surely he could try, but the image of blood on a beautiful face was hard to forget. He turned the page of his notebook. “Tell us everything you did on the days of both fires.”

  Walt sank to the cot, his shoulders slumped. “During the first fire, I was helping Hannah move, and during the second, I came to see her.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth. “Hannah, if you let the police know you were with me—”

  “She can’t do that.” Lincoln rubbed the nape of his neck with his palm.

  “And why not?”

  The jailer approached and unlocked the door.

  Lincoln snapped his notebook shut. “Because you’re lying.”

  14

  “Lincoln, what were you talking about?” As soon as they were outside the jailhouse, Hannah launched into a barrage of questions. “He’s not lying. Why did you accuse him of that? Is it some kind of tactic to get him to tell us what he really knows?”

  “Let’s take a walk around Court House Square, and we’ll talk.”

  Glancing at the clock tower atop the Federal Building, she noted the late hour. Worry grew inside her like a bad itch. She should be home with her sisters. What if Charlotte hadn’t come home like she was supposed to?

  “I should get home and check on my sisters.” She bit her lip.

  “Then I guess your answers will have to wait until tomorrow.” His mouth curved upward, the outer corners of his eyes crinkling.

  “You do realize you’re incorrigible.”

  “Me?” He placed his hand over his chest. “I’m hurt. But surely after you’ve been in jail, a few minutes of fresh air will do you good. I’m only thinking about your health.”

  She lowered her lashes and sighed. What difference would a few minutes make at this point?

  They walked down the sidewalk until they reached the green space of the square. Lilac bushes greeted them, and Hannah itched to pluck a fragrant blossom and carry it home. “I love lilacs.” She paused and pressed her nose to the bush. “My mother loved them. Roses were her favorite, but lilacs were a close second. What about your mother?”

  Lincoln shoved his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know what her favorite flowers were.”

  It figured. A man like Lincoln was certainly more in tune with his own wishes and needs than he was with anyone else’s.

  “How could you not know her favorites?” How insensitive could he be? Suddenly she snapped her mouth shut and turned to him. “You said ‘were,’ didn’t you?”

  He nodded.

  “How long has your mother been gone?”

  “Twenty-five years.” He glanced off into the distance. “She died giving birth to me. I never knew her.”

  “Lincoln, I’m so sorry. And your father? Did he remarry?”

  He touched her elbow. “Let’s keep walking.”

  They followed the paved brick path toward the fountain. Even the lilacs couldn’t hide the fishy stench of the river to the east, but with the two lofty courthouses on one end and the grass now awakened from winter, the square had beauty all its own.

  In front of them, a mother pushed a baby carriage, and a toddler wobbled beside her. Up ahead, a squirrel darted onto the path, grabbed something from the sidewalk, and scurried away. Still, Lincoln remained silent. Why wasn’t he speaking? Perhaps the subject of his family was too personal. Maybe she should change the topic. Just as she was about to go back to Walt’s innocence, Lincoln pointed to a park bench, and they both sat down.

  “My father didn’t remarry.”

  “Where is he now?”

  Lincoln gave a deep sigh. “Beside my mother.”

  Hannah’s hand shot to her mouth to keep any wrong words from bursting forth. Lincoln’s voice, normally so strong, now held a powerful undercurrent of sadness. “How old were you when he passed?”

  “Fourteen.”

  The same age as Tessa. So young.

  “I know what it’s like to be alone, that’s why I’m sorry I had any part in the bank taking your farm from you. I didn’t know you’d just lost your parents. If I had …”

  “You didn’t know?” The words came out weak. Had she misjudged him all along?

  Lincoln paused when a train at the nearby Union Depot sent up a shrill whistle. “My dad was a good man. He, too, was a lawyer, and he was a senator right here in Des Moines, but he managed to juggle it all. He did his best to be both mom and dad. Everything I do is to be worthy to carry his name.”

  “What happened to you after you were orphaned?”

  He stood up and offered her his hand. “I have an aunt in Saint Paul. She took me in, and I lived there until I moved here to study law. She sent me to the best schools, and when she found out I wanted to become a lawyer, she sent me to Drake. Studying at Drake was only part of her plan. Working for her old friend Pete Williams was the other. He and my uncle went way back.” The wind sent a tendril of her hair dancing, and he tucked it behind her ear. “Now, what’s this long face? I don’t need your pity. Haven’t I turned out to be a fine figure of a fellow?”

  His touch sent a current through her, but she dared not let it show. She smacked his arm playfully. “Don’t we need to talk about Walt?”

  With a frown, he dropped his hand. She followed him to the fountain. Water cascaded over the ironwork swans and splashed into the large stone basin beneath them. Lincoln pulled two pennies from his pocket. He bounced one in his hand before tossing it into the fountain. “Walt’s never far from your mind, is he?”

  “Jail is an awful place to be.” The rank odors seemed to cling to her clothes, and she couldn’t get Walt’s dejected face from her thoughts. She took the second penny Lincoln offered and tossed it into the fountain. When it landed beside Lincoln’s, she smiled. Maybe they made a good pair—at least when it came to helping Walt. “Why do you say Walt is lying?”

  “It’s something I’ve learned during my practice. It’s not a science, but I think there are two kinds of talking. You can communicate with your words, but you can also communicate with your body, your hands, or your eyes.” His gaze locked on hers and lingered there.

  What his eyes were saying scared Hannah witless. She gulped. “Please continue.”

  He nudged her back toward the sidewalk. “Has your sister Tessa ever told you so
mething but you knew she was lying?”

  “Yes, Tessa never looks you in the eye when she’s telling a falsehood.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But Walt didn’t do that.”

  “No, he didn’t, but he did something I’ve seen people do over and over when they lie. He touched his face when he told us about those fires. He practically covered his mouth when he spoke. It was like his hand was trying to keep the truth in.”

  “But he …” Hannah stopped on the path and faced Lincoln. Gone was the teasing arrogance from his eyes. Compassion now flickered on his face. She closed her eyes and tried to picture Walt in the jail. The scene replayed in her mind.

  She gasped. Lincoln was right. Walt had done that. Tears pricked the back of her eyes. “But that doesn’t mean it was a lie.”

  “It’s not a science. It’s only my experience.” He pulled her to the side to let a bicyclist pass. “Hannah, on the day he came to help you move, that fire could have already been set by the time he arrived.”

  “I thought about that too.”

  “When he came to see you that afternoon at your new home, what time was it? How did he seem to you?”

  What was Lincoln getting at? She looked down at the brick pavers, and with each step, fear dug at her heart.

  “Hannah, was he nervous or anxious?”

  Everything in her wanted to hike up her skirts and run. Would Lincoln refuse to help Walt if he knew how strangely he’d acted that night?

  “He was fine.” She moved to the side of the walk and crushed a lilac bloom to her nose. “What do we need to do to get him out?”

  Lincoln snapped a small branch off and passed her the blossom. “You know another way to tell if someone is lying?”

  She shook her head, staring down at the grouping of tiny purple flowers.

  “They change the subject.” He tipped her chin up with his knuckle, his lips flattening. “Hannah Gregory, I can’t help your beau if you won’t tell me the truth.”

  She sputtered, “My—my—my what?”

  What was Charlotte supposed to do? She’d completed all her assigned tasks. She’d come home right after school and made dinner. She’d made sure Tessa did her homework. She’d even gathered the sheets off the line. But now George was on her porch and wanted to sit and talk.

  “Aw, Charlotte. I did like you asked,” he said through the screen door. “I waited until after supper to come see you. I’m sure your sister won’t mind if we sit out here for a while.”

  Charlotte bit her lip. Hannah would most likely disapprove, but it wasn’t like she wasn’t chaperoned. Tessa was home. The porch was in public view, and Hannah wouldn’t think twice about it if a fellow as handsome as George Donnelly was sparking with her. Besides, she’d been the one to tell Charlotte to take more chances.

  Drawing a hand down the length of her braid, she pushed the door open. “Thank you for being patient, George.”

  He tugged on her braid. “I thought you were going to make me sit out here all night. I don’t much like waiting, Charlotte.”

  “Then I’ll try not to make you wait again.” She motioned to the swing. “Want to sit down?”

  He slid in beside her. “Where’s that bossy sister of yours off to now?”

  She frowned at his reference to Hannah but chose not to address his comment. “I’m not sure where Hannah is. She hasn’t come home yet.”

  “How’d we get so lucky?” His eyes lit up, and his hand inched across his thigh and captured her hand in a tight hold.

  The screen door banged open, and Tessa traipsed out the door. With a flourish, she turned a wicker porch chair to face the swing and plopped down in it.

  “Tessa Gregory, what are you doing out here?” Charlotte snapped.

  Propping her hand beneath her chin, she stared at George. “Chaperoning.”

  Charlotte jumped to her feet, rattling the chains of the swing. She grabbed her sister’s hand and yanked her out of the chair. “You get back inside this instant. We want some privacy.”

  “So you can …” Tessa puckered her lips and gave an exaggerated smack in George’s direction.

  With a firm grasp around Tessa’s arm, Charlotte opened the screen door, shoved her sister inside, and slammed the door shut.

  Instead of disappearing, Tessa stood at the screen, adding a few more loud smacking noises.

  “Children.” Charlotte sidled back beside George and tried to sound older. “Please ignore her.”

  “Aw, I don’t know. I kind of like her suggestion.” His eyes dropped to Charlotte’s lips.

  Heat rushed from the top of Charlotte’s head to the tips of her toes. As much as the thought of kissing George thrilled her, something about the way his voice sounded made her stomach churn. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, she laid her hand on his. “You’re such a tease. Now, tell me about practice today. Did you hit any of those homey things?”

  “It’s a home run, Charlotte. I told you that the other day.”

  She giggled. “Oh yes. I forgot.”

  He drew her hand up to his lips. “As long as you don’t forget to ask about the box social on Friday. I’d hate to have to buy someone else’s box.”

  “I’m sure Hannah will agree.”

  A voice cleared from the sidewalk. Charlotte looked up to find Hannah standing with her hands planted on her hips. “And to what am I sure to agree?”

  Lincoln opened the front door to his home and sighed. He wanted nothing more than to eat a good meal and finish the last chapters of Jack London’s White Fang. Compared to many of the houses on Grand, his Victorian was rather small, but it was home, and it was certainly larger than he needed. He hoped his father would have been proud of his purchase.

  When he’d bought the house, he’d hoped to find someone to share it with. Even though he’d met many young ladies, he didn’t want to pursue any of them. At least he hadn’t until Miss Gregory entered his life. Everything about her bespoke of passion. She was passionate about her sisters, passionate about her friends, and passionate about God. Did he dare hope she might someday direct her passion in his direction?

  Still thinking about the look on her face when he’d brought up her relationship to Walt, he took off his hat and hung it on the hook. My, she was cute when she was flustered. He wanted to believe her protests about Walt simply being a friend, but the way Walt had looked at her said anything but that. Technically, Walt had first rights to her since they’d been friends forever. Maybe Lincoln should step aside.

  Then again, he’d never been good at stepping aside from anything, and besides, Walt was guilty of something.

  His housekeeper met him in the hallway.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Reynolds.”

  “Humph.” She reached for his coat. “I doubt you’ll still be thinking it’s so good when you’re eating your dry pot roast.”

  “You say that every time I’m late, but dinner is always delicious.” He flashed the older woman a grin. Somewhere along the line, she’d become more like a second mother than an employee, and he thought she secretly delighted in his praise. “Why are you still here? I told you that you didn’t have to stay until I get home. Mr. Reynolds will be worried about you.”

  She draped his coat over her arm. “Don’t you worry about my mister. He came by earlier and had his dinner with me in the kitchen. He’s happy as a lark as long as his belly is full. Now give me a minute to hang up your coat, and I’ll set out your dinner.”

  In a playful lunge, he snagged the coat. “I’ll see to my own jacket and dinner.”

  She propped her thick hands on her ample hips. “But that’s my job, Mr. Cole. Your aunt would be quite displeased if she learned otherwise. She hired me to make sure you were well cared for.”

  “And you do a wonderful job of that.” He winked. “If it makes you feel better, I won’t wash the dishes when I’m done.”

  Two red splotches formed on her wrinkled face. “What a pert young man,” she muttered as she departed for the kit
chen. He heard the banging of what he guessed was the oven door. Poor woman. She simply couldn’t let him do it for himself. Hannah would like her.

  Lincoln scooped up the mail from the entry table and carried it with him into the dining room. The aroma of hot beef hit him hard, and his stomach growled. Before he even reached the table, he heard the back door slam shut. At least Mrs. Reynolds didn’t stay to do the dishes. He grinned. Good. He’d surprise her and wash them. No woman should have to start off the day facing dirty dishes.

  A knock on the front door surprised him. Perhaps Mrs. Reynolds had forgotten something, but it was hard to believe she’d consider using the front door. It wouldn’t bother him if she did, but it would certainly unnerve his housekeeper.

  After setting the letters beside his plate, he strode to the door and swung it open to find his law firm colleague on his doorstep. “Cedric?”

  “We need to talk.” The man stepped inside without an invitation. He passed Lincoln his hat and cane. “Let me get to the point. You need to give up the Calloway case.”

  15

  Lincoln regarded his associate with a critical eye. Cedric had pushed his way inside and ignored the fact that an untouched dinner, visible through the arched doorway, waited on the dining room table. Did the man honestly believe Lincoln would relinquish his case because Cedric hoped to entice a potential client?

  “So you agree?” Cedric sat in a leather chair in Lincoln’s parlor.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Cedric withdrew a cigar from his coat pocket and bit off the end. “With your political aspirations, aligning yourself with a union man could be career suicide.”

  “Maybe it could be.” Or maybe it would help. Lincoln had already considered both possibilities. With the growth of unions in the state, representing Walt might actually win him the votes he would most need for a seat in the house. However, it could kill his chances with the men with the deepest pockets.

  “I can’t imagine you’ll drum up much support if you go forward with this.” Cedric lit the cigar and puffed smoke in the air.

  The room filled with the sweet, heavy scent of tobacco, and Lincoln frowned. The cigar smoke annoyed him, but not nearly as much as the smoker. Even if it killed his political career, he needed to do what was right. Walt Calloway may have been involved or at least know the identity of the firebug, but he didn’t deserve to go to jail for something he didn’t do.